Chapter 3 - THE SISTER IN THE SHADOWS
The leather interior of the black Mercedes smelled of cedar and rain.
Declan sat in the rear seat beside Norah.
Liam was behind the wheel, steering smoothly through the congested gridlock of Michigan Avenue.
Norah had not removed her wet coat.
She kept her hands tucked tightly between her knees.
A warm wool blanket lay across her shoulders, placed there by Declan five minutes earlier.
She had not touched the bottle of water in the cup holder.
"Her name is Clara," Norah said.
Her voice was barely above the hum of the climate control.
"She's nineteen."
"Juvenile diabetes."
"She needs insulin four times a day."
Declan looked straight ahead through the sweep of the wipers.
"When did Vance take her?"
"Two weeks ago," Norah said.
A shudder ran through her slender frame.
"She was living in an apartment near Lincoln Park."
"I came home from work and the front door was unlocked."
"Her medical bag was gone."
"Her phone was smashed on the kitchen counter."
Declan’s jaw hardened.
"And then Julian contacted you."
Norah nodded.
"He called from a disposable number that night."
"He said my father had borrowed three hundred thousand dollars from the Vance docks before he died."
"He said the interest brought it to six hundred thousand."
"I told him I didn't have that kind of money."
"I make seventy-five thousand a year."
She turned her head to look at Declan.
Her eyes were raw, shadowed with weeks of sleepless terror.
"He told me I didn't need money."
"He said I worked for Declan Hayes."
"He said your signature on five port clearance waivers was worth a million dollars on the black market."
Declan understood immediately.
Julian Vance was trying to bypass federal maritime customs.
If Declan signed those waivers, contraband cargo would clear Chicago harbor under Hayes corporate protection.
Weapons.
Narcotics.
Human cargo.
And if federal agents intercepted the shipments, Declan would take the fall.
While Julian walked away clean with the profits.
"Did you sign anything?" Declan asked.
"No," Norah said, her voice breaking.
"I couldn't do it."
"I couldn't ruin you after how good you've been to me."
"So he came to my apartment last night."
She pulled the high collar of her sweater down two inches.
A dark, mottled bruise encircled the pale flesh of her throat.
Finger marks.
A thumb had crushed into her windpipe.
Declan’s fingers curled into fists against his thighs until his knuckles turned white.
A rage he had kept buried for ten years flared hot behind his ribs.
"He told me today was my last chance," Norah whispered.
"He said if I didn't put the signed waivers in his hand by five o'clock, Clara would go into diabetic shock."
"Alone in a basement somewhere."
Declan looked at his dashboard clock.
Three-fifteen.
They had less than two hours.
"Liam," Declan said.
"Sir."
"Call Viktor at the South Loop warehouse."
"Tell him to bring six men to the Vance carriage house on Astor Street."
Norah sat bolt upright.
"No! Declan, please!"
She grabbed his forearm through his heavy coat.
Her fingers were desperate, digging into the wool.
"Julian said if any Hayes security showed up at his house, his men would dump Clara in the canal!"
Declan covered her hand with his own.
His palm was warm.
Steady.
"We aren't going to Julian's house, Norah."
She blinked through her tears.
"Then where?"
"Julian is a coward," Declan said quietly.
"He doesn't keep hostages near his family."
"He keeps them near his money."
Declan leaned forward toward the front seat.
"Liam, where does Julian dock his private yacht during the off-season?"
Liam glanced in the rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing.
"Slip Forty-Eight. Navy Pier private marina."
"He has a live-aboard cruiser with heated cabins and private power lines."
"And two armed deckhands on payroll," Liam added.
Declan reached into his coat and pulled out his phone.
He dialed a three-digit private extension.
"This is Hayes," he said when the line connected.
"Cut the shore power to Slip Forty-Eight at Navy Pier."
"Right now."
"Understood, Mr. Hayes."
Declan slid the phone back into his pocket.
He looked at Norah.
"If the power cuts out, the auxiliary generator on that cruiser kicks on with an audible siren."
"Anyone guarding a sick girl will step onto the deck to check the breakers."
Norah stared at him, her heart thumping against her ribs so loudly he could see the flutter in her throat.
"Is she really there?" she breathed.
"We find out in twenty minutes," Declan said.
May you like
Liam stepped on the accelerator.
The black sedan surged through the amber light at Grand Avenue, racing toward the lake.
